


Dealbreaker

by Taxman_Apologist (spacelizardtrashboys)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Husbands Inc, M/M, Money Incorporated, Multi, Mutual Idiocy, Roughhousing, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Training, Wrestling, Wrestling Tag Team: Money Inc., bastards to friends to lovers to even bigger bastards, business ventures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-13 02:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21486640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacelizardtrashboys/pseuds/Taxman_Apologist
Summary: A multi-chapter work detailing the formation and reign of tag champs/husbands Money Inc. The story of how two insufferable bastards decide to throw in their lot together and get more feelings than they bargained for in their quest for gold.Trying to toe the line between angst, fluff, comedy, drama, who even knows. They're infuriating.Rated M for language, possibly violence, maybe nsfw at some point?? idk
Relationships: Ted DiBiase Sr./Irwin R. Schyster, Ted DiBiase Sr./Sherri Martel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Acquisition Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Million Dollar Man approaches a certain tax agent with a business offer he believes will help him retrieve his most prized possession. Things get ugly.

Ted leaned back in his chair, his face a mask of geniality, as the man behind the desk levelled a knife-edged stare at him. The low light cast by the desk lamp largely masked the grottiness of the cramped office, but here and there Ted's keen eye picked out a water stain on the ceiling, a dent in the filing cabinet, a mouse trap waiting to be sprung. And of course, nothing could hide the papers piled high on almost every surface except the oddly immaculate desktop, which provided a spartan contrast to the layers and layers of chaos beyond. A brass nameplate read "IRWIN R. SCHYSTER" as if the man needed to be reminded. Ted knew that if you had to look at a sign to figure out whose office you were in, then you were dealing with a nobody. Everyone who walked into _his_ personal office knew damn well who they were talking to.

Sherri lounged against the doorway, fidgeting like a bored kitten. It was only a matter of time before she started moving things around or firing off her mouth, partaking in her favourite pastime of getting under people's skin. Ted hoped it wouldn't come to that, but he knew her erratic behaviour set people on edge, distracted them, made them easier to manipulate – she was his secret weapon.

But for now, it was between Ted and his counterpart, and Ted could see that the other man was no amateur; despite his ignominious office situation, he insisted on meeting here, on his turf. He had only provided one guest chair and made them wait while he finished some paperwork, forcing Ted to take the only seat and leave Sherri pacing around with increasing irritation. Finally, the man had foregone a typical sport coat and bared a set of massive arms which formed an imposing silhouette spread wide across the desk, rippling as he diligently wrote down figures with no regard for haste or social graces. Whether he knew it or not, the man had the makings of a negotiation genius. At last he turned his attention to his guests.

"Let's get straight to the point, Mr. DiBiase."

Ted's smile widened. _He's keeping it all business_. Smart move on his part, but Ted had his ways of casting a delicate net.

"I'd be happy to, Irwin."

The best tip he had gotten prior to this meeting was that Irwin was a bit sensitive about his name. Ted had used a warm, friendly tone, careful not to lean too hard into that initial vowel, avoiding at all costs turning the name into an insult. But he _had_ used it. The pause he left between those two syllables and his next comment rung out like an open-handed slap.

"Now, you seem like a man who wants to be on top."

Irwin blinked – Ted had him on his back foot already.

"You know what I mean, Irwin? You like to be in charge, in control. Look at you right now – master of your domain."

Ted gestured about the room, allowing his eyes to linger on those signs of cheapness, mess, decay, which he had previously identified. Irwin knew exactly what Ted was looking at. He kept his eyes forward. As Irwin's mouth opened slightly in preparation for a comment, Ted pushed forward, denying him the space.

"You see, I'm the same way, Irwin. I like to be in charge. Do you think I got to where I am today by rolling over and letting people walk all over me?"

Irwin's tone was flat, unimpressed. "I'll bet the trust fund didn't hurt."

Ted ignored the interjection. "I always have the upper hand, I always get the last laugh, I always end up with what I want."

"I'm sure."

"The point is, when I don't get what I want, there's something wrong. It goes against the natural order of the universe. It needs to be made right. And I want to make things right, with your help."

Irwin gave him nothing in return, so Ted soldiered on ahead. "I'm interested in taking you on to carry out a task for me. It's a matter of a personal nature, but it has implications for my career, and possibly yours too if you prove yourself worthy of my trust."

Ted could see he had made a misstep. Irwin stuck his chin out, a sour look on his face. "What makes you think I have anything to prove to you, DiBiase?"

Sherri piped up from the other side of the room, "How 'bout to this guy?" She picked up a hinged frame containing two faded photographs: one of a strapping young man decked out in an athletic singlet and protective headgear locked in contest with another muscular youth, and the other of the same young man flushed with victory, hand raised and an exhausted, disbelieving grin on his face. Sherri leered as she ran her finger over the contours of the young man's straining muscles. Her tone took on a faux-sympathetic whine: "Looks like it's been a while since these days, hasn't it sweetie?"

Irwin drew himself up in his chair, back straight as an arrow. "I haven't looked back—" the defiant look he shot toward Sherri silenced her giggling, "—and I don't have a damn thing to prove to anyone, least of all you two."

Ted stepped in, eager to smooth things over but pleased to see that Sherri's barb had stuck. "Of course not, Irwin. I can see the value in a man like you. That's why I'm here."

"Cut the crap. What exactly do you want?"

Ted was becoming frustrated. He kept looking for a chance to work his trademark charm, to beguile and entice like he had been doing all his life, but this man just kept muscling forward with obstinate directness. Though it went against his every instinct, he finally offered, "I'd like to hire you for a limited contract, with the potential for future expansion."

"Well what kind of contract are we talking here? You said it's personal – what does that have to do with me? Come on, DiBiase, my time is valuable."

"Yeah, Ted," Sherri's voice sliced through the air, a honeyed razor blade. "Can't you see the man's got a lot going on in his life?"

"Sherri, my dear—" Ted began before Irwin cut in, clearly reaching the end of his rope.

"Get to the point or get the hell out."

"Listen, I've had something taken from me. For the first time, I find myself out of the driver's seat. Someone I trusted has betrayed me. Surely you understand that I need to set it right. Take back what's mine."

Ted sometimes found that where suavity and grace failed, sincerity would do. He had leaned forward and locked his gaze onto his prey, whose face was suddenly lit with understanding.

"This is about that Million Dollar Belt, isn't it?" Irwin scoffed. "Don't expect me to care about your little vanity project." He pushed his glasses up his nose, muttering to himself, "Waste of money."

Ted slammed his hand on the desk. "Dammit, this is about more than the belt! Don't you see? It's about loyalty. I trusted that man. He was a part of my life – my inner circle. I wouldn't expect anyone outside the situation to understand, but he was about the closest thing I had—"

Ted choked on his words, stopping himself before he got swept up. This never happened. His thoughts tumbled over one another... how the hell had this pleb gotten into his head? He took in a breath, reframed, restarted.

"I can see you're a strong-willed individual. You've got follow-through. And you strike me as the kind of man who understands loyalty. Constancy. Dedication."

Irwin growled, "Stop trying to soften me up, DiBiase." He jabbed his finger in the direction of the dark-haired youth smiling out from the photo frame. "My record proves everything you just said. But don't act like that's something special around here. Ask any of the other guys in the locker room and they'd tell you the same thing." A droplet of sweat beaded on his forehead, and his blunt tone became even more forceful. "My question is, why do you think you can buy _me_ off? Why do you think you can play _me_?"

As the huge agent loomed over the desk, Ted found himself puzzlingly caught up figuring out what colour Irwin's eyes were in the low light. They searched each other for a moment.

"Can I trust you, Irwin?"

"Who the hell cares?" Sherri's harsh tone shattered the stillness. Ted cursed inwardly; he had lost track of her mood. "Look around, Teddy. The guy's so far past his prime it's not even funny. He's just a sad little man in a sad little office – he ain't worth your time."

Irwin started out of his chair, but Ted quickly jumped up, reached out and, with the lightest touch, spread his fingertips across the other man's chest. It was heaving with rage. "Please." He turned his head to Sherri, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Take a walk. Now."

Pouting and contemptuous, Sherri spun around and stormed out of the room, her pointed heels punishing the linoleum floors with each petulant stomp. Ted turned back to Irwin. Their eyes were fused together now. Ted knew how to make use of his natural magnetism, and he had yet to fail once he turned it on. His hand lingered on the front of Irwin's shirt. He spoke as if sharing a deep secret between the two of them as they leaned over the desk.

"Don't pretend that this is what you wanted for yourself. That this is where you dreamed you'd be when you were a young man. Do you really want to sit here alone every night, fading away like this shitty wallpaper? Don't you see that I could lead you to great things? You could be more than—than _this_."

_Lord_. Irwin was going to kill him. His voice was coiled tight like a snake.

"You come into my office thinking you already own me. Your girlfriend insults me. _You_ insult me. And you have the audacity to ask me for a favour? All because you lost your toy and you want it back? Pathetic."

Ted ground out, "What's _pathetic_ is seeing a man like you throw his potential away because he's too chickenshit to look beyond the page in front of him." The air itself seemed to retreat from the room. "You know what, Irwin? You might as well lock yourself in here with your best friends—" Ted gestured to the stacks of paper, building up a head of steam, "because I could bring you into a world you'd hardly dare to dream of, but since you _clearly_ don't have an ounce of vision or ambition left, what good are you to me? I don't know what the hell happened to you, but you might as well forget I ever came here. Frankly it was beneath me to even step inside this drab little shitbox you call an office. So you just go about your _business_, such as it is, and leave life to the living."

"Get. The fuck. _Out_."

Their faces had drawn so close that when Irwin barked out those words, Ted felt them more than he heard them. With a dark glare, he spun on his heel and swept out, slamming the door. He'd have words with Sherri later, but as the limo pulled away, he drew a cloak of murderous silence around himself, daring the universe to interrupt him as he planned his next move.


	2. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted has a surprise for IRS which might change the course of their dealings.

"I'm glad you decided to meet with me." A hundred-watt smile beamed out across the desk, a vast stretch of polished mahogany separating the two men in the room.

Irwin, for his part, didn't reciprocate. When Ted DiBiase strolled into his office last week, crisp and radiant, well-tanned and breezy, his hair shining and his teeth gleaming, Irwin knew that he wasn't to be trusted. All that glitter came at somebody's cost. Moreover, his sheen only served to highlight Irwin's own shabbiness. Now here in this seat of luxury, amid these framed oils and lavish draperies, he was acutely aware of the scuff on his left shoe, the bit of vinyl peeling away at the corner of his briefcase, the cheap starched fabric of his collar rubbing against his neck.

He had been enraged beyond belief when DiBiase stormed out after their initial meeting. Irwin acknowledged that it was easy to get under his skin sometimes, but he had never felt his vision close in like that. Lightheaded with anger, he had immediately opened his desk drawer and picked a file at random, diving into the soothing repetitive motions of paperwork until his dizziness cleared. The forms greeted him like old friends – he knew their patterns and intricacies, and he knew exactly what was expected of him. Once the neat black-and-white boxes had been meticulously filled out, Irwin felt like he had been put back in order. He still thought DiBiase was a spoiled, over-familiar prick, but he no longer felt the immediate urge to crush the man's windpipe.

Given the way they left things, Irwin was shocked to hear from DiBiase's people a few days later.

"Mr. DiBiase cordially requests your presence at his private offices on Friday at seven P.M. A driver will come to collect you."

"Yeah, well I'd like to cordially invite Mr. DiBiase to kiss my ass."

"Sir—"

Irwin sighed. "Fine. Tell him I'll be there."

And there Irwin was, his massive body sinking into a ridiculously plush velour chair which threatened to swallow him whole. _What the hell is this, the Palace of Versailles?_ Irwin shifted as he tried in vain to settle himself comfortably in this baroque monstrosity. He finally threw his weight forward, spreading his thick forearms on the armrests at a menacing angle. He couldn't match DiBiase's effortless charm or style, but he could assert his own brute physical presence. Meanwhile, the Sun King shone brightly from his throne, long fingers interlaced and legs folded elegantly one over the other.

A young assistant scurried in, practically bending and scraping as he brought in a silver tray and placed a drink in front of each man. Irwin wondered for a moment whether he ought to thank the retreating assistant. He didn't even want a drink. Ill-mannered and graceless as Irwin had always been, his discomfort skyrocketed in situations like this. He noted that Sherri was absent, but he wouldn't let his guard down for a moment.

DiBiase took his stout glass in his hand, sending the rich amber liquid swirling lazy circles in its vessel. "Top shelf, this stuff. Even _I_ don't indulge in it too often." With a chuckle, DiBiase raised his glass and sipped delicately—a tall, bearded hummingbird.

Irwin contemplated his glass for a moment before reaching out and taking it between his thumb and middle finger. Was this a test of some kind? Or was it just a couple ounces of overpriced whiskey?

Irwin wrapped his fingers firmly around the glass and knocked back his drink unceremoniously. He immediately regretted the power move. It was all he could do keep himself from hacking at the intense burning sensation enveloping his throat, sinuses and eyes. This _was_ the good shit after all. He used every ounce of willpower at his disposal to keep his face straight, to curse the tears back into their ducts. It was all worth it to see DiBiase's face drop momentarily, glass poised at his slack, parted lips.

"I take it you don't put much stock in the finer things." DiBiase's round cheeks crept up mirthfully once more.

"Don't need 'em." Irwin's voice was still a bit hoarse from the powerful liquor.

"Y'know, there's something to be said for that. If I didn't enjoy my earthly weaknesses so much, I might take the same approach." With his slightly blurred vision, Irwin couldn't tell if it was the cut crystal glass or Ted's eyes twinkling at him.

Irwin was feeling exceedingly warm now, his face tingling; that belt of whiskey hadn't helped matters. He stared at the empty glass in his hand, fumbling for direction.

"Look. Look. Why'd you invite me here? It wasn't to show off your booze collection."

DiBiase chuckled again, utterly infuriating. "No, you're right. I do have something to show you though."

Irwin looked around contemptuously. "You've shown me plenty. I've seen all your expensive crap; are you satisfied?"

"I think you'll be impressed."

The statement was met with a scowl. "You don't impress me. Nothing here impresses me. All this gilded bullshit just tells me you have more money than sense. Not interested."

DiBiase sucked his teeth but didn't rise to the bait. "Fair enough, Irwin, fair enough." He paused to bite down on his lip, considering. "But I do think you'll be interested in this. A bit of a research project. I'm quite proud of it." He rose and beckoned Irwin with an open hand.

With slightly uneven steps, Irwin followed his host into a secondary study complete with its own set of furnishings. _So, the office has its own office? What a life_. As he approached the central table, he could already recognize the subject of DiBiase's project.

It was him.

Baffled, Irwin stared down at a vast assortment of clippings, photos, stats sheets, and hand-written notes, all concerning his wrestling career. He recognized pictures of himself from his collegiate days, even a stray newspaper snippet from high school. The majority of the content, however, was far more recent and substantive. Irwin took in the tables and tables of numbers arranged across multiple sheets of paper. They'd been calculated by hand. He turned around and searched DiBiase's face, which was lit up by a Cheshire cat smile.

"Numbers don't lie, Irwin."

"You… You did this? You ran these numbers?"

"Now, why would you be surprised that a man with a talent for making money would also have a head for math? Or were you thrown off by my pretty face?" As DiBiase smirked at his own joke, he made his way around to the other side of the table, facing Irwin across this catalogue of his every victory and failure. The cat's grin became a panther's stare.

"This is why I came to you in the first place. You'd already caught my eye in the ring, but we both know that the truth about a man is in the numbers."

Irwin swallowed hard, his throat tight and dry. He dared not hold DiBiase's gaze, instead resolutely scanning over the columns in front of him, reaching out for some sort of lifeline. He felt utterly exposed, seen, strangely vulnerable.

DiBiase continued, "Any time I go up against an opponent, whether in the ring or at the negotiation table, I do the proper research. I thought I saw something in you when you debuted here, so I started doing my homework. When I dug deeper, it all came into focus." He trailed his fingers softly over a stray sheet. "I saw work ethic, focus, finesse…maybe an obstinate streak." Irwin refused to acknowledge the rib, so DiBiase kept rolling. "Beyond that, I saw someone who might be a perfect foil."

"…Foil."

"Do you know what a foil backing does to a gemstone, Irwin?"

"Do I look like I know a lot about jewelry, _Ted?_"

DiBiase winced a bit at Irwin's biting tone. "Well, the whole point is to set off the stone, to emphasize its brilliance. When you back a stone with foil, it reflects more light. It shines that much brighter. And I thought you might be my foil. It's all here, in the numbers. You're a hell of a worker, but you don't like being in the spotlight. You'd rather tag than wrestle singles, and to be frank you're much better at it. You need someone else to soak up that spotlight so you can keep your head down and do what you do best – tear guys apart."

Irwin glanced up and saw DiBiase had become quite earnest. "Irwin, I want to apologize to you."

Irwin gave him nothing more than a hard, appraising look. DiBiase barrelled on. "Look, I'm sorry I flipped my lid last week. I thought I had you figured out. That principled shit is all well and good for idiots like Hogan, but the man here—" He swept his hand across the table, "—wouldn't turn down a sensible offer for the world. My mistake was that I underestimated your value."

Irwin shifted uncomfortably as DiBiase unfolded his case.

"You're not flashy but my god, you've got the foundations. Look at you. That's what I need. I need that anchor, that backing, that foil. Irwin, I'm used to sparkling. I'm used to being the brightest damn thing in the room. There was a time when people were tripping over each other just to soak up some of the light reflecting off me, and now—" DiBiase seemed to choke on his words again. "Look. Losing my belt was a slap in the face, but it's more than that. It's hard for me to admit that my best days might be behind me. That the glitter's wearing off. And trying to keep up with these new young guys—the speed, the flash, all of it—I just can't. You've felt the changes too. Let's not pretend. But I know we've still got _something_. Now, I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm starting to fade, but I want one last good run, dammit. And I want you at my back."

Irwin realized that their eyes had become intertwined yet again. When exactly had he lifted them?

"At least, that's what I wanted when I met with you. But even that was still a mistake, Irwin. You don't need to stand behind anyone. I can see that now. There's light coming off you from all directions. I'd just like to soak up a bit of it myself."

Irwin's heart thudded in his chest. The silence stretched between them.

"After last week, I came here expecting a fist fight, not an apology."

With a flick of a switch, DiBiase's face was lit up by a genuine and unexpected amusement. He growled good-naturedly, "I was so goddamned mad my head was spinning."

Irwin found his own cheeks creeping up into a sliver of a grin. "I thought I was gonna kill you. I suppose I'm glad I didn't."

DiBiase allowed himself to ease back into his natural congenial form. "Let's put it out there then. I don't want you for some cheap job. I want you for a partner. It's all here – it would work, Irwin. Tag champs within the year. Now don't tell me that you'd turn down a bit of gold falling across your lap."

Irwin couldn't help but snort in amusement at this whole bizarre turn of events. DiBiase reached into a cabinet, pulling out a stack of papers and several hefty file folders. He placed them on yet another table beside a cushy reading chair. He caught Irwin's inquisitive look.

"These are _my_ stats. It's only fair." He smirked. "And, before you ask, I've also included my last seven tax returns and their accompanying documents. Take as much time as you need."

DiBiase withdrew a moment before returning with a crystal decanter and tumbler. "In case you'd like to actually enjoy yourself. Try sipping this time." He winked as he drew a heavy set of wooden sliding doors shut behind him, leaving Irwin alone with the reams and reams of numbers.

Irwin lost all track of time, but when he emerged bleary-eyed from the study four glasses of whiskey later, he could see that DiBiase had propped himself up at his desk while his head lolled against his hand. He started bolt upright when Irwin spoke.

"I'm done in there."

DiBiase arched his back in the chair, smoothing the wrinkles in his jacket and taming the rumpled waves of hair on his head as he regained his composure. His voice was huskier than usual. "Well Irwin, what do the numbers say?"

"I can't believe it all checks out. But it does."

That broad smile returned, though it had been softened by sleep. "Have I surprised you?"

Looking down at the exhausted man who had waited up for him, Irwin could only answer honestly. "Yeah. You have."

DiBiase stood and stretched to his rather impressive full height. He reached out his hand, and Irwin's feet carried him there. It was the most natural thing in the world.

As they clasped hands, Irwin squared up with DiBiase. After a couple of solid pumps, he could feel DiBiase's grip loosen as he tried to pull his hand away, but Irwin held on. He met the other man's perturbed, drowsy eyes and leaned in, using every ounce of mass he had earned over his many years of physical contest. DiBiase had an inch or two on him, but Irwin could run over just about anyone like a truck. His tone was level but unmistakeable: "Understand this. I'm not your manservant. I'm not your underling, your lackey, your personal assistant. I don't do your bidding and I don't answer to you. This partnership is fifty-fifty, and if I get so much as a hint that you're trying to shaft me, I walk."

Irwin's forearm was starting to ache from maintaining his ferocious grip, but he didn't let up. A slow grin crept across DiBiase's face, an odd look in his eye.

"Wouldn't dream of it, partner." DiBiase reached up with his other hand and grabbed Irwin's shoulder with a firm grip, kneading the muscle almost playfully. "I don't think I'd like to find myself on the wrong side of those hands." He slapped Irwin's arm and laughed, boisterous and full-throated. Irwin's ears rang. What a sound –a huge coarse cat's tongue running up his spine. Irwin found his grip had gone slack, and as his new partner's hand slid through his palm, he felt compelled to adjust his necktie.

"I'm glad we understand each other." Irwin ran his hand down the length of his tie in vain – the smooth silk did little to soothe the odd tingling which spread across his hand. Perhaps a remnant of that damn whiskey.

The cool night air felt like a dream as Irwin made his way down the front steps to the waiting car. He slid into the dark cocoon of the back seat and let his body finally relax. He could tell he'd be feeling rough tomorrow, but for now the buzzing sensation spreading through his head and body was like being caressed by wave after gentle wave as the limo wound its way back to his apartment. He slowly ran his left thumb in circles over his right palm and stared out the window until the moon filled his eyes with its reflected light.


	3. Investors' Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brief interlude. Ted and Sherri reconvene after the previous chapter, but something's off between them. [References to sex here, nothing super explicit.]

Ted uncrossed his legs and stretched them out as Sherri made her way around his desk. She perched on his lap, a magnificent osprey – eyes keen, talons sharp, feathers arranged immaculately. He could feel her gaze as he ran his hand along his jaw and brow, trying to revive himself after the evening's long performance. Ted ought, he thought, to give a master class.

"I think we're in business."

Sherri squealed with delight and draped her arms around his neck.

"That drip ain't half as smart as he thinks he is. I knew you'd get him, Teddy Bear."

Ted was always gratified by Sherri's praise, self-interested as it was. It tickled him especially when he knew she was right. Ted had truly pulled off an impressive victory here tonight. In the end, it was so much simpler than he had imagined.

It's not that Ted thought Irwin was an idiot. What use would he be then? But Ted knew that everyone has their weaknesses, their blind spots, their particular local idiocies which could always be fished out with the right delicacy and knack. Irwin's simply weren't located where Ted had originally thought they were.

The best manipulations are only a sliver removed from absolute truth, but that sliver means everything. Ted had indeed done all that research on his target, run the numbers, assembled the materials; he could be diligent when it suited him. He could even be honest when it suited him. Nothing Ted had said was false in any factual sense. His brilliance lay in lying by telling nothing but the truth – every word accurate, none of it real.

What was leaving Ted feeling disturbed and oddly drained, what was making him reluctant to have Sherri sitting there peering into his face, was that he had run away with himself again. He had stepped out from behind his shield of emotional dishonesty and allowed something of himself to be seen. His cheeks burned at the thought. Irwin's bluntness, his gracelessness, his utter inability to pick up his cues and step into the dance, had forced Ted to tap into something real. He couldn't remember the last time he had made such a humiliating misstep, and here he had done it twice in one week.

To add to Ted's outrage, that philistine had downed several hundred dollars' worth of top-shelf scotch without so much as a grunt of appreciation. 

Sherri must have sensed Ted's irritation because she busied herself with straightening his tie and fussing over his hair, keeping her eyes focused on his periphery without trying to see the core.

"You must be so tired. My poor Teddy Bear – we should get you out of this suit."

Ted could hear the playful insinuating tone in her voice, but he was in no mood. That was unusual too. Ted rarely had to be asked twice. As Sherri's hands fluttered all over, preening at him, he felt his stomach knotting up. Her touch was feather-light, her voice cloying. He became aware that he could barely feel her weight on his lap – it was as if she had hollow bones. Her laugh trilled out, but it had no marrow. 

She swooped in for a kiss.

Reflexively, Ted shifted her off his knee, crossing his legs back over one another, unable to summon any words, unable to hold her gaze. Sherri blinked her raptor eyes at him and glided out of the room without so much as a rustle. 

Ordinarily, Ted would have felt some degree of masculine mortification at such a turn of events. He tugged his tie until it hung loosely at his neck and discovered he couldn't muster up the concern. His feet carried him back to the secondary office until he found himself grabbing a random pile of papers from the table and settling into the chair. It held the faintest trace of warmth from the other man who had been occupying it not five minutes ago. Ted absent-mindedly poured himself a drink and brought it to his lips. Mid-sip, he realized that the glass he had been using was still sitting on his desk. After staring into the crystal a moment, he took another pull, set it down and began reading.

* * *

Sherri stalked down the corridor toward the grand bath and kicked off her shoes, leaving them on the floor for someone to pick up. She was going to treat herself to a long soak. If Teddy wanted any attention, he'd have to come asking for it. Her clothes floated off her body and scattered themselves across the hallway.

Sherri had no idea what had gotten into Ted lately, or why he was so fixated on that damn pencil pusher. All Sherri knew was that she wasn't accustomed to being dumped from a man's lap. She turned the tap with an abrupt jerk of her wrist.

As soon as she met the taxman, she could tell that she'd need to watch out. When Irwin shook her hand across his desk, he was perfunctory, almost rude in his adherence to the most basic of pleasantries and no more. Most men held onto her hand as long as they could get away with it. Sherri would change the pressure of her grip or slide her fingers along the palms, feeling for something she could use. It was her own form of divination. Irwin had given her nothing – a brief clasp and then empty air.

When she had greeted Ted for the first time, now that was a different story. He had taken her hand and run his thumb lightly over the back of it, dipping his head and brushing her fingers with his lips. To an observer it was a chivalrous gesture – a sign of good breeding and decorum. His palms told a different story. Sure enough, that night the very same refined gentleman would be flushed and sweating beneath her, courtly mouth cursing with pleasure. They fell asleep in a jumble of sheets and had been entwined ever since.

Sherri couldn't help but smile at the memory as she slipped into the hot water. Had she ever hooked a big one. Of course, men in Ted's position could afford to be choosy, but they usually weren't. The trick wasn't in _catching_ their eye; it was in _keeping_ it. After her night of congress with the cream of society, Sherri slipped out at dawn without so much as a backward glance. When their paths crossed again several months later, she scarcely acknowledged that she'd ever met him. She merely offered her hand to kiss and knew that when she knocked on his door that night, she'd be expected. 

They played this game for years. Naturally, they each had other manoeuvrings to attend to, but it seemed that they always made time for one another when the opportunity presented itself. Sherri supposed that Ted recognized in her the same mercenary nature she had immediately seen in him—they were a pair of hawks sighting the next kill. Whatever the reason, when Ted found himself flying solo after Virgil turned on him, Sherri was the one he called. 

It had been a good run thus far, Sherri conceded, but she knew she had to keep her head about her. There would always be other prospects. That Michaels kid had been giving her the eye lately – maybe she'd give him a bit of encouragement. Now _there_ was a slippery little fish she wouldn't mind catching.

Just as Sherri was beginning to drift away on the lazy current of her thoughts, the door edged open. Ted's voice floated into the room. "I saw a trail of breadcrumbs in the hall. Sure hope there's a witch in here."

He pushed his head in, and Sherri pouted up at him through her eyelashes. The bastard had even used her pet name. Ted must have known that she'd soften the moment she heard him, for as he made his way around the door, he was already partway out of his shirt.

Ted settled down on the wide marble steps at the far end of the bathtub, skimming his fingertips through the water as he rested his chin on the porcelain. His hand drifted over to Sherri's knee, which poked out from the steaming surface. He grazed it gently, swirling circles over her skin as he murmured, "Getting out of that suit did help." It was about as close as he ever came to apologizing for anything.

Sherri let her head roll back against the edge of the tub, languid and winsome. "Do you remember when we first met, Teddy?"

Ted let out a soft, rumbling chuckle, a hint of colour spreading across his cheeks. He met Sherri's eyes.

"I remember catching a tiger by the tail, if that's what you mean."

As Ted stood up and leaned over the bathtub to kiss her, Sherri thought how funny it was that men always forgot she had been a wrestler for years. She found it useful to cloak herself in lace and ruffles, but for all the glitter and finery and four-inch heels, Sherri was tough as a fisherman's boot. Moreover, she had a ferocious command of leverage which had stood her in good stead against much larger opponents. Occasionally, very occasionally, she had to remind people that she was a champion.

Before Ted could brace himself against the other side of the massive bath, Sherri snaked her arm up under his shoulder and over the back of his head, protecting him as she caught his waistband with her other hand and tipped him unceremoniously into the water. Slick as an otter, she slid around to rest on top of Ted's chest, pinning him up to his neck in the water, his long limbs splayed absurdly out of the tub in all directions and his clothing utterly soaked. She stared him down as he blinked and spluttered – the man was so rarely at a loss for words, and this time it was worth savouring.

There was one thing people always forgot about Ted: he was remarkably good-humoured for such an unrepentant asshole. A peal of laughter bounced off the polished marble surfaces of the bathroom, turning it into an echo chamber of hoarse mirth. Sherri noted a shift in timbre – a high-pitched edge of giddy helplessness that she'd never heard before. She'd really got the better of him this time. Sherri grinned broadly as Ted pulled her close against him and buried his face against her neck, stealing snatches of laughter between playful bites.

There was water everywhere. Ted's sodden shirt was flung across the room, landing with a wet smack against the edge of the pedestal sink. A series of other soaked, crumpled items followed closely thereafter. Sherri mused briefly that whoever was going to have to mop up all this water probably deserved a pay raise. She took a breath and dipped beneath the surface. This bird knew a catch when she saw one, and the stream hadn't yet run dry.


	4. Market Research

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins as the new partners try a bit of friendly competition. Ted tests Irwin's skills AND his patience.
> 
> [Language, some minor violence]  
**Thanks to Schizoauthoress for the beta read!**

Irwin made his way through the heavy steel doors at the back of the gym, bypassing the chipper front desk staff and inevitable groups of guys milling about, shouting greetings to each other as they came and went. Irwin didn't get hailed too often as a general rule, but if he did, it was usually something to the effect of, "Nice tie Irwin," or some other uninspired attempt at a joke. Irwin didn't mind the ribs – he understood that they were, after all, a part of the locker room culture. He had simply grown tired of feigning amusement for the sake of camaraderie.

The locker room was oddly empty and quiet. Irwin changed his shoes and tucked his glasses away, feeling ill at ease. What if there had been another staph outbreak? No, surely they would have shut the facility down. Maybe he should have checked in at the front after all.

When he made his way to the training ring, the space was deserted save for DiBiase, who was already stretching, and Sherri, who was rubbing at his arms and legs.

"There's my partner!"

Irwin furrowed his brow as he approached. "Aren't we scheduled for the next slot? Nasties are supposed to have the ring for another twenty minutes."

The million-dollar grin flashed across the room. "I went ahead and bought the other guys' ring time for the morning. They were happy to clear out with the cash I gave 'em."

Irwin frowned. "Do they know we're training together?" He could feel his voice rising. "You didn't imply this was _my_ idea, did you? I don't want—"

"Hey, hey, relax. They have no clue – that's the point. Nobody needs to know my business but me."

Sherri cut in. "We'll be expecting full confidentiality from _you_, of course."

Irwin scoffed, "Of course." He hoisted himself onto the apron. "Trust me, I'm in no hurry to spread this around."

As Irwin ducked his head and stepped between the ropes, Sherri straightened up to her full height and eyed him suspiciously. DiBiase reached out from his seated position and patted her calf lightly. Irwin heard him mutter through his teeth, "Play nice." She let out a huff of air.

"I'm glad you're showing some sense."

Irwin bit down on a retort as Sherri slipped out the other side of the ring. He focused his attention on warming up, stretching and testing the ropes. "So. How do you wanna start off?"

Not hearing an answer, he looked to DiBiase. There was a mischievous gleam in the other man's eye. "Well…I've got this idea. Now, I know all about your amateur background, Irwin. But I bet you don't know about mine."

Irwin scowled. "I didn't see anything about that in your files."

"Well, that's because it was never on the books. I learned it from my old man – he was lettered back in his day. Trained me up. I never competed – was more of a water polo guy, myself. But I didn't just buy my way into the sport, you know. I came by it honestly." DiBiase winked.

"Huh." Irwin appraised his partner, measuring him anew. He didn't have the huge muscle mass that a lot of guys favoured, but it was true that he had outpowered and outmaneuvered much larger men on multiple occasions. The numbers didn't lie.

"So, what do you say, Irwin?" DiBiase said, coaxing. "Wanna tangle?"

Here Irwin couldn't suppress a smirk. This man was about to be annihilated.

"Sure, if you're ready to be put on your back. Give me one period."

DiBiase's eyebrows shot up as he unfolded his limbs and stood. "Feeling confident, are we?"

"I hope _you_ are. Over or under?"

Again, that sly grin spread across his partner's face. "Over."

Irwin dropped to his knees in the center of the ring, hips low, hands resting lightly on the mat. "Fine by me, DiBiase."

DiBiase planted his left knee alongside Irwin's own and brought his right foot around behind him. Irwin kept his eyes forward as he felt DiBiase's arm wrapping around his waist, chest pressing up against his back. A light breath played across his ear.

"You'd better start calling me Ted."

Irwin felt the hair stand up on his neck and along his arms as DiBiase got into final position, left hand gripping his opponent's elbow and head resting on his shoulder. They breathed.

In the moment of absolute stillness before a bout, everything crystallized in Irwin's mind. He could see a webbed chain of events laid out in sequence, outcomes proliferating into infinity, a vast double-mirror whose reflections shifted as they receded toward their vanishing point. At the end of each sequence: his victory. If this man was trying to get in his head, it would take a lot more than an appeal to their newfound alliance. Irwin waited for DiBiase to signal, feeling light as air. 

_Tap, tap_.

Both men exploded into motion.

Irwin lunged to slide out, but DiBiase had a solid grip around his waist and was doing a much better job of riding than he had expected. Fine, good. Irwin was content to let DiBiase think that he couldn't shake him off – all he needed was an opening.

He deked around in a series of fluid movements, keeping a closed stance, never quite allowing DiBiase to gain his balance, forcing him to shift his center of gravity and expend energy to stay on top. Soon enough, Irwin could feel him lagging, and suddenly DiBiase was hanging off his side.

Irwin shot his arm back between their bodies, muscling out as he spun around to face his opponent. DiBiase had brought a knee up in an attempt to regain his balance. Irwin hooked it, shoved forward, and brought him down with all his weight.

DiBiase landed on his back with Irwin in his guard, leg tied up and nowhere to go. As Irwin made to pin him, an elbow flashed up and caught him across the nose. He fell back, stunned.

"Shit, goddammit—"

DiBiase sat up smoothly. "Sorry Irwin, didn't mean to catch you there. I'm not as graceful as I used to be." He got into bottom position as Irwin gingerly rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Here, why don't we start again? You can take top."

Irwin grabbed the other man by the shoulder, throwing him off to the side and kneeling in his place. "You wanted top so bad, you take it. I'll still pin your ass." DiBiase covered him once more without a word.

_Tap, tap_.

Irwin wouldn't be wasting any more time. He made a hard knee slide, getting one foot out in front of him and latching onto DiBiase's wrist to gain some control. But again, DiBiase stuck to him like glue, maintaining a fierce grip around his waist.

Irwin looked down. The bastard's hands were locked. There was no point in explaining to DiBiase that he'd violated another rule, so Irwin made to shift his weight back and try to reverse.

Suddenly, DiBiase reached up and hooked both of Irwin's arms into an illegal full nelson, pulling him partly into a standing position before tripping up his leg and throwing his weight forward. With no recourse at his disposal, Irwin dropped, his face smashing into the canvas. He struggled for a moment before he finally threw DiBiase off his back and sprung to his feet in a fury, noting that Sherri was smirking at him over the magazine she was reading.

He whirled around to face DiBiase, who was lounging on the mat, propped up lazily on one elbow.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

Irwin hated the feeling of impotent outrage welling up in him – he felt like he was once again a child on the playground, yelling "No fair!" when one of his classmates cheated at a game they were playing. Then as now, he had to admit that he was bothered less because the other kid refused to follow the rules which were so clearly delineated, and more because he wasn't winning as he should be.

"Oh, is that not allowed?" DiBiase drawled. "My mistake. Guess Dad didn't teach me all the finer technicalities."

"Guess not," Irwin spat. "Get over me. Do it again."

_Tap, tap_.

Again the two adversaries lit up with kinetic energy, struggling for control. Irwin escaped DiBiase's hold and they made their way to their feet, circling each other, keeping their heads low, wary.

Irwin grabbed the back of DiBiase's neck and pushed down, but only for a moment. As DiBiase instinctively threw his head up to counterbalance, he opened his center and Irwin dipped inside, snagging both of his partner's knees. Bracing the side of his head up against DiBiase's midsection, he exploded forward, taking the other man's legs clean out from under him and knocking him flat on his back.

As Irwin made to cover, DiBiase twisted around onto his side, but Irwin had one of his legs scissored firmly between his own and was draped across him in a solid ride. He was closing in.

Suddenly, Irwin felt the sharp, unmistakable jab of a thumb in his eye, followed by searing pain. His vision blurred as tears flooded one side.

"Mother _fucker_—"

Irwin sank his fingers into DiBiase's hair and shoved down hard. DiBiase let out a yelp of pain as his head bounced off the mat. He tried to get up on his hands and knees, but Irwin was on him immediately, yanking his opponent's arm up and around his head and shoulders, forcing his own arm roughly over the nape of DiBiase's neck.

As he flipped DiBiase hard onto his back, he crooked his elbow around the millionaire's golden head and locked it in with both hands. Irwin arched his hips against the other man with all his force, wrenching his head around and dragging him into a vicious guillotine hold. He heard a pained cry half-muffled against his collarbone. He half expected DiBiase's head to come clean off. Shoulders were down. There was no resistance—not even a flutter. One, two, done.

Irwin held him there a few seconds longer, listening to the ragged gasps of pain intermingling with his own. DiBiase's ear was mere inches from his partner's mouth. The tax man tilted his chin forward ever so slightly.

"I win, Ted."

Irwin released Ted and shoved him away, rising to his feet and pacing the ring, his veins coursing with rage. He cupped his eye gently. From the canvas, he heard the hoarse, uneven breathing turn into a low, grinding chuckle.

"Guess it's not all rules and regulations with you, is it?"

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

"Well, you can't blame me for being curious."

Irwin stopped dead in his tracks. "You weren't even trying to win, were you? You were trying to piss me off."

"Not trying, my friend. Succeeding."

Irwin advanced threateningly on the supine form of his partner. Ted raised his hands in mock supplication. "Hey now, you got the best of me in the end, so I think we can call it even. Maybe more than even. With this bad spine, I should've known better." He winced in pain as he sat up, supporting his neck with one hand and his lower back with the other.

Irwin's embarrassment spread over him like a heat rash. Some shooter he was. He'd let this dilettante rich boy rattle his cage and then just about killed him. It hadn't even taken that much. His coach's endless speeches about self-discipline rang in his burning ears. He paused a moment, examining his own feet, then extended his hand. Ted took it and allowed himself to be hoisted up. They looked at each other a moment.

"You're a real asshole, Ted."

"So are you, Irwin."

Irwin couldn't quite place the feeling lodged in his chest. He wanted to punch this man in the face. He wanted to laugh his ass off. He wanted to break down in tears.

"Next time, I fucking decapitate you."

Ted laughed and turned away, stretching out his sore muscles. "Noted… Look, why don't we break for a few and then actually get down to it? Run some drills, trade some moves, see what we're working with here. No more bullshit, I promise."

"Fine by me."

Stepping down off the apron to get a drink and clear his head, Irwin felt a pair of sharp eyes on him. Sure enough, Sherri was peering over her magazine, her face deep in thought, calculating. She didn't bother to look away when she saw him returning her stare, albeit a bit lopsided with his still-tender eye. Irwin shrugged and walked out to the fountain in the hall.

As he bent over the lethargic stream of water, he felt a light tap on his shoulder blade. Irwin turned and faced Sherri, who looked up at him with the same inscrutable expression as earlier. He couldn't keep the edge of sarcasm from his voice.

"Can I help you?"

Sherri considered him a moment. "Listen, uh. We got off to a bad start. Don't take it personal or anything – I never like anybody right away."

Irwin had to snort at that.

Sherri pushed ahead. "I know I can be protective, but I want what's best for Teddy. If that means you, then okay."

Irwin eyed her warily. "We'll have to see what's best for him, _and_ for me."

"Look…this is weird for me too. And I promise, I'm not asking to be your friend. I get the sense you're not really in the market for friends anyway... But we might as well start fresh if we're gonna work together."

Irwin took a deep breath. Against his better judgment, he extended his hand. "All right."

Sherri clasped both hands around his, squeezing. She flashed a wide grin. Irwin responded with a nod before pulling his hand free and turning back to the fountain. He heard Sherri's heels clicking down the hall, heading back toward the ring.

Irwin wouldn't have been inclined to turn his back on Sherri in any circumstance, but he needed a clean break from this conversation. It wasn't an unwelcome gesture, certainly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that these two were running some kind of game. He could play nice for now, but he had just shown both Sherri and Ted the limits of his beneficence. Damned if he'd be put on his back by either one of them.


End file.
